


Reality

by TiggyMalvern



Series: Sanity [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, brief cameos by other crew regulars, deaths of redshirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-22
Updated: 2002-09-22
Packaged: 2020-11-22 09:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiggyMalvern/pseuds/TiggyMalvern
Summary: Movie timeline starting immediately after First Contact. In the aftermath of the Borg attack, and with Starfleet on the verge of war with the Dominion, Picard's having too much trouble dealing with his own issues to deal with Q. Even when Q seems to want to help. But Q was never the type to take no for an answer...





	Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Starts immediately after First Contact. This story slots into the Deep Space Nine Dominion war arc, so some knowledge of that series helps, but shouldn't be entirely necessary. I think I've explained enough of what was going on for it to make sense.  
Thanks to Alara for the beta. Originally posted September 2002.
> 
> Winner of best Picard/Q story and third place in the Next Generation slash story category of the 2002 Golden O Awards.

**Stardate 50915.0 **

The stars hung motionless, unchanging, restored to the familiar patterns from his childhood. 

Picard stared out past the pylons of the space dock, the ship strangely silent around him. No background hum, no faint vibrations, the bridge silent on the other side of these doors. Enterprise felt like a ghost ship, all systems off-line except life support while the work crews struggled to repair the damage done by the Borg down in the lower decks. 

There would be no lengthy respite this time, no period of grace to come to terms with the intrusions of his past. The flagship was needed back in action to counter the Dominion threat - the losses to the Borg had devastated the Federation's careful plans. The Dominion fleet was massing in Cardassian space and the Federation was bracing itself to lose Deep Space Nine, and with it the wormhole. They simply didn't have the resources to defend it. 

Truthfully, he was relieved to know that the ship would be ready to leave in just another couple of days. He didn't need time to brood. 

He would have liked to talk to Lily. Her rather abrasive brand of reality was something he could welcome, a viewpoint from outside Starfleet. 

He'd made a point of looking into her life. It hadn't been easy to find - the records from that period were sparse and scattered - but then the idea had been to fill some of his time as much as to learn her fate. He had managed to discover that she married, but had no children. She died in her sixties, over two centuries ago, and never really saw the fantastic new world the Vulcans helped humanity to create. 

He supposed he ought to visit Earth; who knew when he would have the chance again? Most of his crew were on planet, apart from the unfortunates in engineering and maintenance who were alternating twelve hour shifts with the space dock staff. Perhaps it was ungrateful of him to waste an opportunity that Geordi would kill for, but there was nobody left to draw him to Earth. His home was his ailing ship, and it felt right to be here. 

They were back in his dreams, the Borg. Troi knew, of course, and was quick to point out that it was expected, it was normal. It didn't feel very normal to Picard when he woke horrified and shivering three or four times each night. He couldn't avoid sleep, not when he had to be ready to deal with the Dominion in a matter of days, although he doubted whether the broken sleep he snatched was particularly restful. 

He'd confronted his long-term nightmare and won, and it didn't help at all. He'd offered his very soul to that _creature_ and death didn't stop her from waiting each night to remind him of it. 

His eyes drifted across the unsuspecting blackness of space and he wondered when they would return. The destruction of a single cube would never be enough to stop them. The stars looked back at him, unblinking. 

Perhaps, he reflected, he ought to be grateful that Starfleet were in no position to worry too much about the stability of their Starship Captains. The immediate threat was the Dominion and his current Borg obsession was hardly appropriate. 

He missed Q. A strange thing to have to admit to himself. Not the Q he'd last seen, reverting back to flashes of his old, demanding, petulant self. He missed the friend who had made him laugh. And that thought was enough to bring him a not-quite-smile at his own foolishness, because he had a feeling that particular Q was gone for good.

*****

**Stardate 50927.1 **

Picard tapped the authorisation screen, sending the latest data via secured channel to Starfleet Command. It didn't make promising reading. Dominion ships continued to flood into Cardassian space, literally by the thousand, and all Starfleet could do was skulk along the borders and watch. Things were going to come to a head very soon, and the results of Enterprise's surveillance would have told him it was going to be unpleasant, even if Q's oblique warning hadn't already done so. 

It had to be coincidence that Q appeared just as Picard had a passing thought of him. There had been many moments thinking of Q. 

Q said nothing, just leaned one hip against the doorjamb, watched and waited. Assessing. Very un-Q-like. The door didn't open, even though he stood within its sensor range. 

Picard kept his voice and words carefully neutral. "You took your time. I was expecting you before now." 

Q shrugged slightly. "I wasn't sure I'd be welcome. You've been somewhat distracted of late." His tone equally guarded and unhelpful. 

Picard met Q's gaze, mild curiosity the only thing showing there. He knew there had to be so much more going on inside; he just couldn't read any of it. Q put up so many different fronts and always remained the enigma. It was… frustrating. 

He'd wanted to see Q and Q hadn't been prepared to face him. 

"You knew. The last time you were here, you knew the Borg were coming." 

"Yes." A straight answer from Q, with no pretence or dramatising. The novelty of it’s still enough to surprise him. 

"You knew and you chose not to warn me." 

"You told me you don't want to know the future, Picard." Q replied, pushing himself away from the door and increasing the intensity of his stare. 

"The Borg are different!" 

Q leaned forwards, hands resting on the edge of the desk, voice soft and hypnotic. "Are they really, Jean-Luc? Are they so different from every other race that threatens your species? Or are they just different for you?" 

And Q wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know, but the truth of it didn't matter. His long-nurtured rationality deserted him when it came to the Borg, and knowing it was so did nothing to change it. The voices that had whispered in his head, at first only in his sleep, later a background to his every thought and decision; they drove his reactions with a strength he couldn't easily counter. And still now they whispered to him at night, his own dreams giving them influence even in their absence. 

"I could have handled it better." 

"You could also have done much worse," Q pointed out, sounding a little piqued. "Do you really think you have to be perfect?" 

"Of course not!" Except that when he failed, people died. 

"Then maybe you'd like to stop moping around over things that can't be changed." 

Q's supercilious voice was really more than he wanted to deal with right now. "Thank you, Q. Perhaps you shouldn't plan on taking over the Counselor's position just yet." 

Q sniffed. "Well, if you don't want my help, just say so." 

"Really? It's never worked before." The biting note in his own words irritated him. Q had always been able to drive him to lose his temper faster than any other living creature. He didn't need yet another reminder of his own wavering control. 

"It's so easy for you to pass judgement, isn't it, Picard?" Q's eyes narrowed, genuine anger creeping into his expression as he glared across the desk. "So simple to dismiss anyone who doesn't live by your set of rules." 

Picard looked down briefly at the gleaming surface of his desk. He hadn't wanted an argument, but he recognised that he'd done his share to provoke it. He raised his eyes again to face Q calmly. "You're wrong, Q." 

The soft words defused Q a little, cold features relaxing, a twist at one corner of his lips. "Maybe I'm just not wrong enough," he said quietly, and vanished. 

Picard found his fingers tapping at the glossy desk, unsure whether to be more irritated at himself or at Q. He'd wondered about Q, had anticipated this visit for some time, but his reappearance had merely confirmed Picard's uneasy feelings about their odd relationship. 

He certainly wasn't blind to his own faults, and there was an element of guilt in his ill humour now. He had targeted Q with misdirected frustration and it was unfair. But really no more unfair than it had been for Q to inflict his sexual expectations on him, when he already had distractions enough. 

He clamped down tightly on his internal musings, rose to his feet and headed back to the bridge, hands automatically tugging at his clothing. 

His attention was needed for the Dominion. Q was one more diversion he didn't want.

*****

**Stardate 51297.7 **

"Captain, I have Admiral Hayes for you." Riker's electronic voice entered the ready room, disturbing his reverie. Picard straightened his uniform and sat more stiffly in his chair. 

"Thank you, Number One." 

The screen rose out of his desk and he spoke his authorisation code automatically. The blackness cleared, revealing the Admiral's drawn face. 

"I'm afraid I don't have anything useful for you, Jean-Luc." No greetings from Admiral Hayes, straight to the point as usual. "That shapeshifter of yours isn't saying anything." 

"Not entirely unexpected, Admiral." But it was still a final report he could have done without and he kept his face expressionless with an effort. 

"Unfortunately, no." The Admiral paused briefly. "We're listing Lieutenant Pearce officially MIA as of two days ago." 

"I'll notify her family." 

The Admiral nodded. "Your orders are to rejoin the ninth fleet at Starbase 621 within nineteen hours." 

"We'll get under way immediately, sir." 

"Jean-Luc?" Picard was startled by the Admiral's altered tone. "Well done." 

"Thank you, Admiral," he replied formally. 

Hayes broke the connection and the screen blanked out, whirring gently back into its recess. 

"Picard to bridge." 

"Yes, Captain?" 

"Set course for Starbase 621, warp 6." 

"Yes, Sir." 

Picard relaxed wearily back into his seat, feeling the ship shift slightly around him as they entered warp. _Well done._ He'd done everything he could reasonably be expected to, but the outcome was still entirely inadequate. A Changeling had infiltrated the crew of the flagship and nobody had any idea how or when it had arrived. There were clearly gaps in Starfleet’s security procedures, but where? 

The only good point about this business was that the Changeling had been detected fairly quickly. Lieutenant Pearce had been real less than three weeks ago, when she was last tested. More than enough time for sabotage, but the ship and all systems had been thoroughly examined with no indication of problems. The most likely assumption was that the Lieutenant had merely been a convenient go-between as the shapeshifter awaited an opportunity to replace someone of higher rank. An unpleasant realization for the bridge crew. 

The level of paranoia had increased noticeably all round. Pearce's closest friends were unable to pinpoint any change in her behaviour, any indication of when the substitution had taken place, and frankly that was the most disturbing thing to Picard. His crew were all human as of yesterday, when they had been checked along with the rest of the Enterprise, but who knew now? He wondered how a Starship was supposed to perform in battle when the entire crew was suspicious of every shipmate they worked with. 

And now he had the task of explaining to Lieutenant Pearce's family that Starfleet had lost one of their officers, without any idea of what had befallen her. 

He recalled when she first came aboard; Geordi had been delighted to get her. She was still very young, not long out of the academy, but her abilities had brought her rapid promotion. She was considered something of a prodigy in the field of warp drive enhancements. 

These reports to relatives were by far the most unpleasant duty he had to perform. It was markedly worse this time, when he had no explanation, no small comfort to offer in the form of heroism or a painless demise. Just an unfortunate blank space of three weeks. Was she dead in an unmarked grave or was she incarcerated in some Dominion prison somewhere? 

"I can tell you." 

Picard started at the voice behind him, and swivelled his chair around. Q stood staring out of the windows at the star-streaks. It made Picard distinctly uncomfortable that he had no idea how long Q had been there. 

"No, that won't be necessary." The stiff formality his refuge as ever. He'd seen relatively little of Q over the past months, his occasional visits tending to deteriorate into bickering and a rapid exit. There wasn't much left of that short period when they had been something like friends. 

"Why not, Jean-Luc?" Q turned serious eyes upon him, staring down a little imperiously. Picard ignored it. He'd learned decades ago not to be intimidated by a disadvantage in height, and the fact that he was seated made no difference to him. 

"Because you were right the last time." Picard smiled somewhat acidly. "Be grateful, Q, you won't hear me say that very often." 

"Of course I was right." Q gave him an equally non-genuine smile in return before his expression softened. "But this isn't telling you the future, this is about the past." 

"It's information that I don't have access to through normal methods, and I don't want it from you." Picard heard the edge in his own voice. Right now he couldn't stand another long argument with Q; the last one had been more than enough, weeks ago though it was. He could barely remember now what had triggered it, just the helpless inability to stop the downward spiral of sniping. 

"And what makes me such a special case, Picard?" Oh, god, there it was, that peevish note in Q's voice, and they'd barely exchanged five sentences. Q strolled closer, seating himself apparently casually on the desk, but Picard knew all the rigid tension below the surface. "You'd be only too pleased to have the Vulcans tell you what happened to your missing minion. Even the Romulans would have your gratitude and thanks. Tell me, why exactly is it that _I'm_ the only alien you won't accept anything from?" 

"It's not the same thing at all, Q, you must see that!" Picard was openly snapping now, the tensions of the last few days wearing at him. All he really wanted was for Q to go away. 

"What harm can it possibly do, Picard?" Q leaned over to glare his anger directly into Picard's face. "What disaster is going to befall the Federation and the universe if I reveal to you the fate of one pathetic, lowly human being?" 

Picard hung onto his temper with difficulty, well aware that Q would only retaliate in kind. He had no desire for this to escalate into a yelling match. He closed his eyes and controlled his voice into calm. "It's not that simple," he stated. 

Surprisingly, it actually had some effect, as Q himself spoke more softly in reply. "Would it really be so appalling to accept help from me when you would take it from races you despise, those you consider to be duplicitous and secretive?" 

Picard felt that those particular words might just as well be applied to Q on certain occasions, but this was hardly the moment to point it out. "There's a difference in scale between exchanging intelligence with other mortals and asking you for information, Q," he pointed out dryly. 

Q blinked in obvious astonishment, then abruptly burst into laughter. "You consider it to be cheating!" he howled in apparent delight. He bounced away from Picard's desk, taking several steps before stopping and turning back to face Picard. "Your entire species and their little friends face being casually squashed and Captain Jean-Luc Picard has to play by the rules!" he declaimed to the room in general. 

"It's a matter of Federation principle, Q." Picard kept his annoyance from leaking out with a deliberate effort. "I assure you it wasn't intended for your amusement." 

"Federation principle?" Q looked somewhat put out. "Not all of your colleagues would seem to agree." 

Picard sighed, prepared to defend his beliefs yet again, but found himself silenced by Q's blazingly serious gaze. Q walked towards him and crouched by the side of his chair, eyes locked to Picard's in direct challenge. 

"Do you know why your Federation still exists right now, Jean-Luc?" he asked in little more than a whisper. "Why it is anything more than a pitiful few broken ships?" Q paused expectantly, the edges of his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because your Captain Sisko cut a deal with those wormhole aliens of his," he announced with evident relish. "If he hadn't, this sector of space would be crawling with Dominion warships and your principles wouldn't be a great deal of use to you." 

Picard felt his fingers tighten on the chair arm, muscles reacting unbidden to the information Q was giving him. He believed it all. And so few people knew just how unbelievably close they'd come... 

He hadn't known the details, but he'd known that something unusual had occurred in the retaking of DS9 - Sisko's report was classified above his authority, marked only for certain Admirals to view. He'd had his own suspicions, and all of them totally overwhelmed by the truth, by the magnitude of Sisko's actions. 

But Sisko was an increasingly unconventional officer. The man had been posted to a backwater to keep him out of trouble until retirement, and had ended up at the forefront of this war due to an entirely unpredictable event. 

Sisko was a man who hated and despised Picard without ever knowing him, who condemned him through the years for something he had no control over. 

Q was still gazing across at him intently, gauging his reactions. "It's down to each individual Starfleet officer to make the decisions they consider appropriate, Q," he said stiffly. 

"Oh, come now, Jean-Luc," Q baited in the old, familiar, faux-innocent voice. "Surely what's good enough for one Starfleet captain -" 

Picard shoved his chair back and stood, glaring down at Q in icy fury. "I am not Benjamin Sisko!" 

He strode away from the desk, away from Q, ruthlessly subduing his temper in a way that had suddenly become so well-practiced again under the pressures of war. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot." Grounding himself in the mundane, the familiar, managing not to snap at the replicator with an effort. His skin prickled with the knowledge of the eyes on his back. The tea hummed gently into existence and he took his first cautious sip. 

"Jean-Luc?" 

Picard smiled tightly at the subdued voice. He'd finally made Q back down, acknowledge that he'd pushed too far. The thought was enough to complete his control and he replaced his cup and turned back to face Q, his expression schooled into absolute neutrality. 

Q hadn't moved. Dark eyes fixed on Picard for long moments until the tension visibly left the large frame and Q rose to his feet. "I'm not offering you secrets." Same quiet tones that had spoken his name. "I'm not telling you anything about your shapeshifter, how or when it got on board your ship." And Picard was enfolded in the vivid memory of a tropical beach and salt air, the only other time he'd ever seen Q so serious in anything other than threat. "Nothing that could affect the course of your war." Q moved towards him as he spoke, halting bare inches away. "What can be so impossibly complicated about having some answers for a grieving family?" 

And with Q so close and so sincere, Picard found his need to get _rid_ of Q so much more acute. "Because it wouldn't end there. I know you, Q, and I know human nature." He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. "The next time the favour would be a little bigger, the next more important still. That path isn't easy to leave once it's trodden." And confessing his own weakness and uncertainty to Q really didn't bother him at all. 

Sometimes the easiest way to deal with Q was simply to give him the truth. 

Q's direct gaze was unaltered, no external reaction to Picard's words. Picard held himself still, unblinking, determined not to give Q anything that could be interpreted as shame at having to admit that he was merely human. Enterprise hummed low around him in the near-silence. 

Q's mouth quirked into a slightly bitter smile. "The offer stays open, Jean-Luc." He leaned forward swiftly and brushed soft lips once against Picard's. "They both do." 

And then he was simply gone. 

Picard turned to the replicator and reclaimed his tea, trying to sort methodically through the clamour of thoughts vying for his attention. Logically, he wondered what possessed Q to consider any kind of relationship when they couldn't spend five minutes in the same room without the conversation degenerating into bitter sniping. Rather more viscerally, Q had left him with the urge to masturbate like some desperate teenager, which was irritating as well as embarrassing. There was a whole dictionary of unflattering words suitable to describe how that particular revelation made him feel. 

Most importantly, as bitterly as he'd defended his corner, Q had made some points that cut precisely because they were valid. 

He returned to his seat and activated the screen, banishing everything Q from his mind in the face of the task still before him. As he sought the appropriate words for Lieutenant Pearce's family, the hypocrisy of it all was overwhelming.

*****

**Stardate 51385.2 **

"I have the bridge." The turbolift doors swished closed behind him. 

Riker nodded and rose from the Captain's chair. "Nothing to report, sir. There's been no evidence of any movement within the Zone. The Cortez and The Endeavour made their standard check-ins and reported nothing unusual." 

"Thank you, Number One." Picard seated himself and tugged his uniform into shape. 

The infinite starfield filled the viewscreen, large swathes of blackness and no inhabited systems inside the better part of a light year. The boundary of the Neutral Zone remained as resolutely dull as the last time the Enterprise had been here. 

Various crewmembers took their positions, gradually replacing the old shift, the changeover staggered over a period of fifteen minutes. Theoretically, it avoided the possibility of confusion in the event of someone timing an attack to coincide with crew rotation. Fewer people to trip over one another. Picard watched the near-strangers populating his bridge and just wished he could hold on to a crew long enough to get to know them. The steady losses of ships and personnel led to staff being shuffled around all too frequently, Starfleet desperately trying to keep viable crew levels on the ships they had. 

After a week of this patrolling, Picard was seriously starting to doubt the reliability of Starfleet's intelligence reports. A period of inactivity was undoubtedly good for the crew, a partial release from the constant stresses of the last few months, but he was too aware that vital battles were being fought in distant sectors while the flagship hovered on an empty border. 

A glance to his left and there was a sympathetic smile from Deanna. He nodded in acknowledgement and briefly wished he didn't have to spend so much time on the bridge with an empath. He wouldn't deny her usefulness or her brilliance as a Counselor, but she knew that he was hiding a great deal from her. Their mandatory sessions were becoming ever more frustrating as she tried to draw him into talking about more than the war. It was now a battle of will and wits to preserve his privacy rather than the intended pressure relief valve. 

Even if he'd been inclined to discuss Q, he didn't see how he could. He couldn't explain to himself why it was that he felt the long absence of an alien who only drove him crazy when he was actually there. 

He snapped himself out of the brooding before it could start. Deanna would ask him about it next week if he let it go on. It was also distinctly unprofessional, quiet shift notwithstanding. 

"Captain Harris is hailing us, sir." 

Picard was absurdly grateful for Hertzler's voice breaking the monotony. "On screen." 

As the image appeared, Picard reflected that Harris looked far too young, but that was true of many of the officers recently - promotion could be rapid when there was a war on. Harris didn't waste time with greetings. "Captain, we're picking up some odd signals from the Zone. Engineering aren't sure, but it could be a faulty cloak." 

"Bridge to engineering. Are you detecting anything unusual in the Neutral Zone? The Endeavour has an abnormal reading." 

"Nothing, sir." Geordi's electronic voice filled the bridge. "Could be The Endeavour's closer to the source. If we knew what we were looking for, we could probably refine the sensors." 

"I'll have the files transferred directly," Harris said, passing the instructions along to his crew. 

"Is the signal source stationary?" Picard asked. 

"It's intermittent," Harris admitted. "We're only getting brief contacts but it seems to be heading this way." 

Picard turned to Hertzler. "Hail the Cortez." 

The screen split and Nakauchi's face appeared alongside Harris. "Captain, have you picked up any signals from the Zone?" 

Nakauchi checked with her crew. "Nothing, Picard. Just the usual background radiation." 

Not unexpected. Enterprise lay between Endeavour and Cortez, so the other ship would be still further from the source. "Keep us informed of any further developments," Picard decided, eyes flicking between the two Captains on screen. "I'd like confirmation of what we're dealing with." 

The screen returned to star-swept blackness. 

Picard resisted the temptation to fidget as he waited somewhat impatiently for more reports. There was a distinct air of expectancy on the bridge after all the days of waiting, tension slinking palpably amongst the crew. It lurked behind the sudden flurry of tapping at consoles, audible in his own breathing patterns that he was suddenly conscious of. Deanna sat rather stiffly in her seat. He sometimes wondered just how effective she was at blocking out this kind of atmosphere. 

"Engineering to Captain Picard." 

"Go ahead." 

"I've taken a look at the readings from the Endeavour and it could be a cloak with a phase inversion problem. There seems to be a trace of omicron particles." 

"Do you have a fix on the signal?" 

"No, sir, we're working on the sensor enhancement." 

"What other possibilities are there for its origin?" 

"Well it could be a residual signal from a ship that decloaked in that location anything up to forty-eight hours ago." Geordi sounded distinctly doubtful. "Or maybe a glitch in the Endeavour's sensors if they're being affected by a high level of hydrogen ionisation." 

"Your best guess, Mister LaForge." 

"I'd say there's someone out there, sir." 

Picard was willing to trust Geordi's judgement the vast majority of the time. 

"Captain Harris is hailing us again, sir." 

"On screen." 

"Picard, we've got that signal again. It's definitely coming this way." 

"Current distance?" 

"About one point three AU inside the Zone at the closest point." 

"How soon until they reach the border?" 

"If they hold the same speed, they'll be in Federation space in just over four minutes." 

Picard tightened his fingers around the chair arm. The bridge crew were all ostensibly studying their readouts, but he knew they waited in coiled anticipation of his next words. "I think you should go to meet them." 

Harris smiled unevenly, teeth glinting on the enormous screen. "The Romulans won't like it." 

"Probably not," Picard said, undeterred. "You can ask them politely what they're doing here. One Federation ship will appear less threatening then three." 

"I don't much care what it looks like," Harris replied. "The Romulans aren't looking for a fight with us right now. They're too busy keeping an eye on their Dominion neighbours, treaty or not." 

"Agreed. All the more reason to find out why they're hanging around our borders. Picard out." 

Harris disappeared from the screen once more. "Mister LaForge, do we have that location yet?" 

"Not on our sensors, Captain, but we have the latest data from the Endeavour." 

"Set a course for the Endeavour's current position. I want us as close as possible without infringing on the Zone." He didn't listen for Kwan's acknowledgement, turning towards Hertzler. "Get me the Cortez." 

The starfield morphed into Nakauchi's face moments later. 

"The Endeavour's going to investigate the anomaly." Picard quickly summed up the last conversation. "Rendezvous with Enterprise at coordinates six one one mark seven." 

Nakauchi turned for a short exchange with her bridge crew. "We'll be there in a little over fifteen minutes." 

"Don't make it any later. Picard out." 

The starfield wheeled slowly around ahead of them as Enterprise shifted course. The long-familiar silence claimed the bridge again, the faint alteration in engine hum almost obtrusive. Kwan began tapping at helm again, making fine adjustments, the rapid click of her tapered nails on the console intensely annoying. Much as Picard lauded Starfleet's inclusive admissions policies, he couldn't help wishing sometimes that the Edoan was on someone else's bridge. 

"Captain, the sensors have that signal now," Geordi's voice reported. "We're starting a frequency analysis of the wavelengths of the omicron particles, that should give us more information on their source." 

"The Endeavour didn't provide us with that data?" 

"No, sir. Enterprise was fitted with upgraded sensors after they were damaged last month. Endeavour hasn't received them yet." 

"Keep me informed." Picard worked to conceal his irritation. Technological advancements were supposed to be available to the whole fleet within weeks of reliability assessments being completed. He wondered how they were expected to win a war when Starfleet struggled to keep its ships equipped. 

The turbolift doors swished open behind him. Picard turned to see Riker making his way to the centre of the bridge. "Something going on I should know about, Captain?" 

Picard eyed his first officer, keeping his expression cool. "I thought you were supposed to be getting some rest, Number One." 

"I noticed the unscheduled course change. I'm not going to sleep if I'm wondering what's happening, am I?" 

Picard acknowledged the truth in the statement, returning his first officer's smile briefly. Whatever was going on, he'd enjoy an excuse for Riker's company. "It seems we have visitors in the Zone." 

Riker dropped quickly into his usual seat to Picard's right. "I wouldn't want to miss a chat with the Romulans," he commented dryly. "It'll be the most exciting thing we've done in two weeks." 

Picard could sympathise with Riker's frustration at this mission. The prolonged inactivity had been an uncomfortable lesson in boredom and apprehension for everyone. 

Geordi interrupted his thoughts once more, the normally collected voice edged with tension. "Captain, that faulty cloak's definitely not Romulan. I can't be one hundred percent certain the way the signal's fading in and out, but the pattern suggests it's Klingon." 

"Hail Captain Harris." Picard spoke rapidly. "Hertzler, double check there are no Klingon forces in this area. And get Commander Data up here." Technically Data was off-shift, but he didn't need sleep and there was nobody with faster reactions or better at assessing battle situations. 

Harris appeared on screen. "What have you got for me?" 

Hertzler spoke up before Picard could reply. "Central Command confirms no Klingon vessels near Romulan space." 

"Harris, get your ship out of there!" Picard snapped. "Whoever they are, they're using stolen cloaks." 

Harris turned briefly from the screen and barked orders at his helmsman. 

Riker spoke quietly from his right. "The Jem'Hadar could have salvaged cloaks from abandoned Klingon vessels." 

"And we have no idea how many ships might be out there," Picard agreed, well aware of the potentially nasty situation they were in. 

"We're heading directly back to Federation space," Harris reported. "We'll reach the border in a little over two minutes." 

"We'll be there to meet you," Picard responded. 

"Captain! Four ships decloaking in the Zone! They're Dominion!" 

"Red alert!" The bridge darkened as power was diverted automatically to shields and weapons. 

On screen, the image of the Endeavour's bridge shook visibly, interference lines racing across the visual as blast radiation affected the signal. 

"Intercept course!" Picard ordered instantly. "Inform Central Command we have Dominion contact. Where's the Cortez?" 

"Cortez ETA is nine minutes," Hertzler responded. "Endeavour's shields are holding." 

The turbolift hissed Data's arrival. "Data, take tactical," Picard ordered. "Fire torpedoes at the lead Dominion ship." 

"We are not yet within effective range, sir," Data pointed out, his eternal calm taking the edginess out of a tight situation as always. 

"It might distract them from the Endeavour." Riker second-guessed his intentions. "Endeavour can't hold out against four ships." 

The Endeavour's image continued to be rocked by a barrage of powerful shock waves. "Endeavour's shields down to fifty four percent," Data announced. 

The screen changed to show an external view of Enterprise's torpedoes impacting on the Jem'Hadar shields. Two of the ships peeled away from the formation and headed directly towards them. 

"Well, you've got their attention." Riker cast him a sideways look. 

"Hold fire until they're within range." He smiled grimly at his first officer. "I just hope we can keep it without taking too much damage until the Cortez joins us." 

"Firing range in ten seconds." 

"Evasive manoeuvres as soon as those ships open fire, Ms Kwan. Pattern delta." 

"Yes, sir," Kwan acknowledged, tapping staccato on her console. On screen, the image of the Dominion ships enlarged rapidly, stars obliterated behind threatening metal. The lead ship flared with brilliant light that split away and headed directly towards the screen. 

"Firing now, sir." 

Enterprise's phasers streaked across vacuum as the ship shifted beneath them, wheeling away left and down. The Dominion torpedoes glanced harmlessly off the outer edge of Enterprise's shields, only the faintest judder felt on the bridge. 

"Shields are undamaged," Data reported, confirming Picard's intuitive assessment. "The Dominion ship is also unharmed." 

He hadn't expected any differently. "The Endeavour?" 

"Approaching rapidly, Captain, two ships in pursuit. Endeavour's shields at forty two percent." 

The onscreen stars rotated and shifted as Enterprise continued her sequence of movements. A glimpse of three larger light sources, the closing Endeavour and assailants, then back to Enterprise's phasers tearing a fiery line across the heavens; rapid, distracting fire that missed as often as it hit, but should dissuade their pursuers just a little, maybe enough. The stars twisted again, Picard developing more of an appreciation for Lieutenant Kwan with every practiced dive. A Starship wasn’t the most manoeuvrable vessel in the fleet, but Kwan was certainly making the most of the E's abilities. 

The bridge rocked violently with a more solid hit. "Aft shields down to eighty three percent," Data said immediately. "The lead Dominion ship has an undeterminable degree of shield damage." 

And the second hadn't even been fired upon, Picard added mentally. "Hail the Endeavour." 

Harris appeared onscreen, rather more flustered then when last seen. "We're taking too much damage, Picard. Nothing serious yet, but it's a matter of time. We can't handle two ships alone." 

"Agreed," Picard said tightly. "We're coming around close behind you, then I suggest we both make a run towards the Cortez." 

"You've got my vote on that one." Harris gave a tight smile before ending the transmission. 

Enterprise shuddered again, a deep vibration through every surrounding surface. "Aft shields holding at sixty three percent." 

Too much damage, as Harris had so correctly said. "Estimated time to rendezvous with the Cortez?" 

"Approximately six minutes." The worry was stark in Hertzler's voice. 

"Ms Kwan, I want a course bearing of six two three mark five five one. Continue evasions as necessary around that general heading." 

"Yes, sir." A deep rumbling and another quake covered her tapping. The solid hits were coming in faster now, as the Dominion ships got to grips with the limits of Enterprise's manoeuvrability, the fastest turns of which the ship was capable no longer enough to throw off the targeting weaponry. 

"Aft shields down to nineteen percent. One more impact will result in total failure." 

And they had barely even reached the Endeavour. The other ship loomed large now in the forward viewscreen, trailing torpedoes and phaser fire at her attackers as she fled. 

"Mister Data, open fire on the other two ships as we come around." 

Enterprise arced beneath the three battling ships, below and between Endeavour and her pursuers, out of the crossfire. Torpedoes angled up and left, sparking flares of light as they impacted on the Jem'Hadar shields. 

"The Dominion ship has lost shields." The next phaser blasts from the Endeavour confirmed it, burning long scars across the enemy's hull. The ship rolled sideways, but maintained pursuit and its firing wasn't even interrupted. That was the main problem with fighting the Jem'Hadar. Genetically engineered, purpose-bred soldiers wouldn't pull out of a fight until their ship was destroyed; they had little intrinsic need for self-preservation. 

Enterprise was abruptly shaken by a much larger impact, enough to hurl Hertzler across the bridge from his standing position. He quickly regained his feet, apparently uninjured. Picard exchanged a look with Will. "Aft shields have collapsed," Data confirmed automatically. 

"Concentrate fire on that damaged ship, Mr Data. I'd like to take one of them out of the equation." 

Kwan executed another wide, twisting sweep, bringing Enterprise onto a bearing roughly matching the Endeavour's, headed back towards the Cortez. The two Starfleet vessels dived and circled around their parallel courses, compromising between rapid flight and exposing their vulnerable sterns to the constant barrage. As Enterprise tacked sideways yet again, she trembled from impacts on her still-shielded flanks. 

The targeted Jem'Hadar warship behind them exploded abruptly in a silent glittering display that almost blinded, viewscreen a startling white contrast to the redly flickering bridge. Endeavour was now left with a one-on-one fight she could handle, but Enterprise had taken some notable damage from her two largely unchallenged pursuers. The ship was buffeted suddenly by a whole series of explosions in succession, once again causing the standing bridge crew to lose their footing. 

"Damage report!" 

"Starboard shields have failed, Captain," Data intoned. 

"Multiple hits to deck five," Geordi reported in from engineering, the noise of a smaller explosion sparking in the background as he spoke. "Also deck ten, and the starboard nacelle's taken minor damage." 

The ship rocked again, prolonged as the damage spread internally. 

The computer spoke emotionless through the clamour. "Warning: outer hull breach." 

"Bring us around, fast! Protect the starboard side!" 

Kwan executed another textbook-perfect evasion pattern, only to have the impacts continue as Enterprise dipped. 

"Warning: inner hull failure imminent on deck five. Decompression danger." 

The pursuing ships shadowed Enterprise neatly as the ship plunged and rolled, maintaining their distance and eventually their angle of attack. "Captain, the Dominion appear to be targeting specific areas of the ship. I believe they must have detailed information about the Enterprise." 

Troi turned enormous dark eyes in Picard's direction. "Lieutenant Pearce." 

"Or the changeling that replaced her," Picard stated, voice cold. "We still have no idea what was in those transmissions." 

"Captain, we're taking heavy damage in engineering." Geordi spoke again, several voices audible frantically calling to one another over the open channel. "They're going to breach the hull here soon!" 

Decompression in engineering. A nightmare if anything else went wrong. "Status of the Dominion ships!" Picard snapped angrily. 

"The lead ship has total shield failure and heavy damage to the forward weaponry, sir. The second ship has minor damage and a single failed shield section." 

So close. Just a couple more decent hits and they'd be rid of one attacker. Unfortunately, the Enterprise was in almost the same situation. 

"Where's the Cortez?" 

"The Cortez will be in firing range in a little under two minutes, sir." Hertzler spoke with an audible tremor, voice almost cracking on the honorific. He cleared his throat and held himself stiffly on the edge of Picard's vision. 

Too long. 

"Warning: decompression in main engineering." 

So they’d lost access to the core and most of its fail-safes, Picard reflected. If there was a problem now, all they could do was dump it. 

"Mister Data, projections on the chances of Enterprise remaining functional until the Cortez arrives." 

Data tipped his head slightly to one side in a remarkably human gesture. The ship was pummelled yet again as he answered. "I estimate thirty two percent, sir." 

Not good enough. Picard looked at Will, who nodded. "If we abandon ship now, sir, the Jem'Hadar will leave her alone. The Cortez and Endeavour can finish off the Dominion ships and Enterprise can be towed back to dock." 

In the current stretched Starfleet circumstances, a damaged but salvageable ship was vastly preferable to one completely destroyed. 

There was another sudden whiteout flash on screen, the glare fading to reveal scattered pieces of the closest attacker drifting apart. Picard cast a victorious glance at Riker. "I think our odds have just improved, Number One." 

The image of the Cortez was now clearly visible, enlarging with every passing moment. Another series of explosions shook Enterprise, the power surges causing one of the bridge consoles to erupt in a fountain of sparks behind him. This time, even Data lost his footing. Hertzler went down with an audible crack and didn't get up again. 

Their one remaining attacker darted around behind Enterprise to take up the position left by the destroyed ship. "Evasion pattern omega!" Picard ordered, Kwan not bothering to acknowledge the order as she responded instantly. Enterprise rose vertically in a twisting glide that turned the vulnerable starboard side away from the line of fire. The ship rattled dramatically with the inevitable renewed assault on her rear, then lurched unpleasantly. 

"Captain, that last assault has caused considerable damage to the helm linkages," Data reported urgently. "We are likely to lose all directional control within the next forty-five seconds." 

Which would leave them dead in the water, a sitting target awaiting the coup de grace. He punched the button on his console for shipwide announcement. "This is Captain Picard. All hands to abandon ship immediately, repeat, abandon ship!" 

Riker and Troi rose from their seats and headed for the turbolifts as he spoke, Kwan pausing long enough to enter a continued evasion pattern into the helm console, designed to keep Enterprise moving while her crew evacuated. 

Another explosion rocked the bridge, hurling all those standing to the floor. Another console succumbed to the enormous surges of power, lighting the room briefly with the yellow glow of fire. The fire suppression systems kicked in automatically, dousing the flames as the crew staggered to their feet and headed for the life capsules. 

Picard followed Kwan around the rails to the turbolifts, captain always the last to leave the bridge -- which was suddenly silent and empty around him. No crew, no flashing red panels, no hiss of fire retardant. Not even the faint background engine hum of normality. Just the instant awareness of who was here with him. 

"There isn't enough time, Picard." Q spoke casually, lounging in the captain's chair with his typical insouciance, seat swivelled round to face him. 

Picard considered this statement as he stood in the eerie stillness, his body still adjusting to the unnatural transition from adrenaline-charged stress. "The warp core?" 

"The Dominion want to utterly destroy the flagship. They have all the schematics, of course, and they're targeting the newly-exposed core dampers as we speak." 

"The reaction will increase exponentially. With the dampers gone, there'll be no way to contain the energy." Picard's voice remained matter-of-fact even as the probability of losing another Enterprise became certainty. 

"At least it will be quick," Q pointed out in a tone that carried no consolation at all. "After the next accurate shot, there'll only be twenty-four milliseconds to worry about it." 

"How long do we have?" 

Q shrugged. "Does it matter? Not long enough. You're out of options, Jean-Luc." 

"The crew?" he asked flatly. 

"Oh, most of them will make it," Q said with a dismissive wave. "This little ship of yours has quite an efficient arrangement of life capsules." Dark eyes bored directly into Picard's. "You'll lose just under a third of them." 

Picard felt oddly numbed. Even without the civilian population, all left at the nearest Starbase the moment tension became open warfare, one third of his crew was still over two hundred people... 

"I won't tell you whether you'll be one of the survivors," Q continued. "I'm sure that would offend your sense of fair play. But I can tell you about the others if you like. Do you want to know whether the redoubtable Commander Riker will survive to captain his own ship?" 

Q's words flowed into Picard's mind, unfreezing him. The implications immediately obvious, the fury surging up inside him in response. He just wasn't certain whether his anger was more directed at Q or at himself for failing his ship, for putting himself in this situation. 

"Or should I appeal to your chivalric nature? What about Counselor Troi? Or dear Beverly? Don't you want to know if you might have to live with her death as well as Jack's?" 

"Do it." 

"Do what, Jean-Luc?" Wide, mock-innocent eyes that only incensed Picard further. 

"That's what you're heading towards, isn't it? Offering me a way out? Telling me you can fix everything? Well, do it." The harsh edge to his voice was the only external sign of his closely controlled rage. 

Q almost seemed to fluff himself up in contentment. "Are you quite sure about that?" he asked, silken tones something akin to a purr. "I wouldn't like you to hold it against me later." 

"Just get on with it, Q!" 

Q uncurled from his position in the chair. "Very well," he smiled. And snapped his fingers. 

The bridge hummed, soft and familiar, no alarms. The crew were in their normal positions. Picard walked rigidly to his chair. "Status report," he demanded into the stunned silence. 

"Helm controls functioning normally, sir." 

"No Dominion ships within range, sir." Data's tone unflappable as ever, but his expression gave away his burning curiosity. "They didn't cloak, they just...disappeared." 

"Any indication of how? Temporal displacement, spatial rift?" Riker was quick to gather his wits, Picard noted with his customary approval of his first officer. 

He didn’t wait for Data's reply. "Q, where are the Dominion ships?" 

Q flashed into human form, standing relaxed in front of the viewscreen. "I sent them back to Cardassia," he announced, oozing smugness. "Give them a couple of days and they'll be back at the front line. I could have obliterated them, of course, but I felt that might violate your tedious sense of propriety." 

"Engineering to bridge." 

Picard was truly grateful for the interruption. His crew were divided between staring at him and staring at Q. He made a particular point of avoiding Deanna's gaze. "Go ahead, Mister LaForge." 

"Sir, we've sustained considerable damage to decks five through seven and ten. The warp core's running at less than sixty percent efficiency, but it's stable." 

Hertzler groaned quietly on the floor, cradling one arm, Ensign Mathers attending to him as best he could. 

"Get a medical team up here," Picard ordered, paying no further attention to Q after his explanation. "And I want a casualty report as soon as everyone's accounted for." 

"Sir, can you explain exactly what happened here?" Riker wasn't sounding pleased. 

"I would have thought it was rather obvious, Number One." He managed to keep the snap from his words, concentrating fiercely on maintaining an outward appearance of calm and wondering just how he was going to deal with the results of this decision. 

Q smirked. "I couldn't have put it better myself, Jean-Luc." 

"Shut up, Q!" 

Riker threw Q a vicious glare. "Captain, I'd like to speak to you privately if I may." 

"Of course." Picard turned to face helm. "Set course for Starbase 378, warp two." 

"Sir, Captain Harris is hailing us." 

Picard sighed. "Tell him...tell him I'll contact him in five minutes with a full explanation." He rose from his chair. "Number One?" He headed for the ready room, Riker following immediately behind him. 

The door closed after them, Riker completely rigid with tension. "Permission to speak freely, sir." 

"Granted." Picard sat behind his desk and waved Riker at another chair. 

Q appeared in the chair, fingers laced behind his head. "This could be fun. Do you mind an audience?" 

"You're damn right I do!" 

"I don't recall asking for _your_ opinion." Q's eyes flickered to Riker only long enough to accentuate his scorn before returning to Picard. "It's not as if you have anything to hide, is it, Jean-Luc?" 

Picard narrowed his eyes at the implication. He planned on taking full responsibility for his decision at every level. "No, I don't. But this is a private discussion and a Starfleet matter, and I don't want you here." 

Q pouted. "I won't interfere. I'll just listen quietly." 

"Because you're just so damn good at not interfering," Riker scoffed. 

Q turned to Riker with an unpleasant smile. "Are you so sure that you wish I didn't?" 

"Q, just get out!" Picard unleashed his control for just one moment. The discussion with Riker was going to be delicate enough without Q contributing to both their tempers before they even started. Both pairs of eyes swivelled in his direction, and somewhat to his surprise Q did visibly subside. He gave Picard a long assessing look. 

"Since you ask so nicely," Q said finally with a quirk of his lips. "But I'll be seeing you soon, Picard." He vanished, flashing brightly. 

Riker ignored the chair and leaned across Picard's desk, hands resting on the edge. "Did you make some sort of deal with Q, _sir_?" 

Straight to the point, and the stress on the honorific told Picard just how close to the edge his first officer was. "Something like that," he admitted. 

Riker sucked in a breath and made a visible effort to stay calm. "What the hell for?" 

"I had access to information that you don't," Picard said carefully. 

"Information that Q gave you." It wasn't a question. 

"Yes." 

"How do you know he wasn't lying to you? You _know_ he can't be trusted!" 

"True," Picard said thoughtfully. "But I feel I have a fair understanding of when he's liable to twist the truth. On this occasion, I was inclined to believe him." In a peculiar way, he did trust Q - not necessarily always to do the right thing, but to do the right thing for Q. 

Riker paused to consider that. When he spoke again, he'd regained more of his usual composure. "So what's our end of the bargain? What did you have to trade him for his help?" 

"There wasn't anything specific." He spoke quietly, grateful for Riker's trust in him that won out over his dislike of Q. 

Riker muttered a curse almost under his breath; Picard tactfully decided to ignore hearing it. "So now we'll have him hanging round our necks like an albatross, liable to pop up at any moment and demand some little favour from us." 

Picard felt that was unlikely but had no intention of explaining why. 

Riker stood back from the desk, all the confrontation bled out of him. He cast Picard a curious look. "What did he tell you was at stake, sir? The ship?" 

"More than the ship, Will." 

Riker nodded, accepting of both the answer and Picard's judgement. He made a slight face. "Well at least I know you're not a Changeling for now." 

The comment dragged up a genuine smile from somewhere inside. He'd almost thought he'd forgotten how. "I think I can safely say the same about you." 

Picard's communicator bleeped. "Captain, I have Captain Harris again. He's becoming rather impatient, sir." 

Picard let out a long breath. "Tell him I want a private conversation and then put him through. You'd better patch in Captain Nakauchi too, same conditions." 

"Yes, sir." 

Riker gave him a look of distinct sympathy before he turned and re-entered the bridge. Picard straightened his uniform as the screen rose and he prepared to explain himself to his colleagues and to Starfleet.

*****

**Stardate 51385.9 **

His quarters were obviously quiet and empty. He'd half expected to find Q waiting for him. 

The door hissed softly closed behind him, sealing him inside. He'd spent the last few hours doing a lot of talking and explaining, but there hadn't been a great deal of time for thinking, and if he was totally honest with himself he was trying to avoid it. 

Q might even have been a welcome distraction at this point. 

The depth of his fury at Q surprised him somewhat until he realised that it wasn't just the choice Q had presented him with that he raged against. It was Q himself. After all these months of absence, Q had returned to do _this_ to him: to taunt him, to weaken him, to force him to make the decision that Q knew he didn't want. It was a deliberate manipulation and it felt strangely like betrayal. 

And despite that, the anticipation of Q's arrival crawled within him. An argument was inevitable, bitter and personal as they had been in all their last few meetings; and he still wanted Q to be here rather than have him stay away again. His body remembered the jolt that had shaken him to the core on the bridge before he even saw Q, caused by simply knowing he had to be there. There was no hiding from that, even allowing for his adrenaline-swamped system accentuating it. 

Despite everything, he still wanted Q. And he still missed the odd friendship he’d somehow lost without ever knowing how it went wrong. 

He thanked whatever deities might care to listen that his not-quite relationship with Beverly had never been openly discussed, if this was the outcome. This tattered remnant of companionship that he mourned alone. 

He asked the replicator for a sandwich, unable to face the idea of a larger meal. He ate at the desk in his quarters, chewing thoroughly before forcing it down into his taut stomach. He stared at the blank area of wall across from him, and wished not for the first time that he'd had a fish tank installed in here. Though even his fish would have had difficulty deflecting him from this mood, he thought dryly. 

It burned that Q had stayed away for so long, far more than the manner of his return. However much he disliked being put in that situation, he had made his choice and he had benefited from it. He certainly wouldn’t want to go back and reverse it.

He tipped his empty plate down the recycling hatch and settled down to read while he waited. Enterprise buzzed softly around him, the subdued note of a sickly ship at suboptimal speed, a constant background reminder of his failure. There had been five more fatalities today from the attack before Q had intervened. That brought his total crew losses to the Dominion to nineteen. 

At least he could still count them, still remember their names. He had learned years before that he had to live with his losses to the Borg as a faceless, unknown mass. 

He looked down at his padd and realised that he hadn't flipped a screen. The words danced in front of him, refusing to hold their place long enough for him to make sense of them. Soft spots floated through his vision, further distracting him. He knew he was too jaded for this, but also that he was too coiled to sleep. 

He decided to take a shower - it would be invigorating. Besides, it would be just like Q to turn up at the most inconvenient time. 

He took his time in the shower, real water for a change, an indulgence. Real soap that lathered over his body in thick white foam. He rubbed at his muscles firmly as he washed, massaging away some of the tension with the sweat. 

He dried quickly and efficiently, towelling himself until the friction reddened his skin. He dressed simply in pyjamas and a robe. 

This time, his archaeology journal was more amenable, the printed screen behaving as it should. He skimmed through the first four articles before noticing that he could barely remember what they had been about. 

He replaced the padd on the table with a sigh and looked out of the window at the warp-elongated stars. Their patterns had always calmed him as a child, when he wasn't busy inventing tales of the alien races that lived around them. 

He wondered just what the repercussions of today would be. Had he changed the path of the war, the fate of the quadrant? 

Battered as they were, Starfleet was still a formidable force with enormous numbers of ships at their disposal. The survival of Jean-Luc Picard and the Enterprise was unlikely to be a major factor in the outcome. A comforting thought, if only he could truly believe it. But Enterprise had made the difference on so many occasions. 

His carefully nurtured anger at Q was real, but he knew that it had also been protective. He didn't regret his decision today. He would do it again; but he had no idea whether it had been the _right_ thing to do, and he probably never could know. An evening fuming at Q was preferable to the alternative of brooding over the unanswerable. 

Maybe Q knew. Q could calculate the likely consequences of losing Enterprise. 

Q had said he would see him 'soon'. But who knew what 'soon' was to a Q? 

He sat by the window and finished reading his journal. And Q didn't come.

*****

**Stardate 51387.4 **

Picard woke after just a few hours' sleep, despite his underlying exhaustion. "Lights. Increase temperature by four degrees." War wasn't conducive to unbroken rest, and he'd taken to reading rather than try pointlessly to get back to sleep. 

The room brightened and he sat up in bed, pulling his pyjama top more closely around himself. A comfortable temperature for sleeping wasn’t the same as a comfortable temperature for wearing thin clothing. 

"Good morning, Jean-Luc," Q said brightly, sprawled in an ornate chair that had appeared by his bed. He wore an outfit identical to Picard's own, loosely tied, the crossover front exposing a fair amount of dark-haired chest. 

Picard felt the coiling in his gut, the twitch in his waking half-erection, and raised his eyes back up to meet Q's dark gaze. "I was expecting you earlier," he remarked, intensely grateful that Q had restricted himself to a chair instead of invading his bed. After the anticipation of yesterday, his reaction to seeing Q now was unexpectedly intense. "I didn't think you'd be able to wait this long to gloat." 

"There was something I wanted to check on before I visited." The cryptic words were clearly not intended to enlighten him and Picard dismissed them. Q stared at him lustfully from under half-lowered eyelids. "I had an ulterior motive, you see." Q's broad fingers began stroking their way across his sheet. 

"You always do." The words came out rather harsher than he'd intended. 

"And it's one of the many things you like about me," Q smirked, gaze dropping to flow across Picard's body like distilled sex. 

Picard stiffened, annoyed not so much by the blatant and crude attempt at seduction as by the fact that it seemed to be working; warmer air currents were suddenly noticeable drifting along his sensitised skin. "How do I know that you didn't arrange that battle just so that you could play out your little scenario?" He asked the question out of sheer defensiveness. He already knew the answer. He knew Q. 

And then he blinked mentally, wondered how he could possibly be so arrogant as to believe he really knew this creature that had lived a million of his lifetimes, held a thousand different shapes before the one that sat here tempting him now. 

Q was totally still, taut muscles showing below the edges of his loose sleeves. "And why exactly would I need to do that?" The words were edged, spoken precisely. He stared at Picard with hard eyes, but there had been a flicker of something else before his face closed over. "The way this war of yours is going, it was bound to happen eventually. All I had to do was sit back and wait." 

Picard had expected a reaction to his barb, but not this. 

"And just as I predicted, the noble Jean-Luc Picard sacrificed his own honour to protect his beloved Federation," Q continued sarcastically. "You can't fight a war without a ship and a crew, can you?" 

"It wasn't like that, Q, and you know it." Picard couldn't help reacting to the injustice, albeit probably deserved. "My crew aren’t just resources, they're people." 

"And so was that lovely girl from engineering, what was her name again? Ah, yes, Lieutenant Pearce." 

The guilt was a fast slap. 

"My help wasn't good enough for you then. One person isn't enough for you to compromise your morality, but a hundred are?" The accusations came faster now, bitterness dark in every phrase. "Where exactly do you draw the line, Picard? Ten? Fifty? Or maybe it's not just a numbers game for you. What if it had been the delightful Doctor Crusher instead? Would that have been _different_, Jean-Luc? How unfortunate for the poor Lieutenant that she was only on board your ship for two months before she disappeared." 

"Stop it, Q!" Picard pulled himself out of his shocked silence, and once again Q subsided when he demanded. Twice in as many days. He wondered if he would be lucky enough for this trend to continue. 

"Do you still want me, Jean-Luc?" 

The abrupt shift in topic and tone staggered him. No one kept him so constantly off-balance as Q, and the timing of the question almost left him with the urge to laugh despite his anger. "Right now, I can't imagine that I ever did," he replied stiffly. 

"Oh, if only it were that easy, Captain." Soft voice, twisted half-smile and dark eyes that watched him with something like sadness. Acrimony burned away in a flash-point reaction as Picard felt the impact of it. "So what excuses do you have for me this time?" 

"Excuses?" Picard felt as if this conversation was somehow happening without him, left wallowing in the wake of Q's non-sequiturs and his own revelations. 

"Starfleet Command have amended their opinion of me quite considerably, did you know that?" Serious Q was gone in an instant, smugness radiating across the gap between them. "There are even those who would encourage a relationship between us." His gaze flickered sideways at Picard, amused, conspiratorial. "They don't all have your morals, Jean-Luc." 

"That's why you did it?" Picard was aghast at the idea that Q had interfered in the war simply to remove one of his objections to a sexual relationship. 

Q just shrugged, seemingly unaffected by his tone. "I had lots of reasons, but it was certainly a fortunate side effect. And since you've shown yourself willing to accept my help, you can't hold that as a point against me any longer." His voice lowered, capturing Picard with a darker look and harsh words spoken gently, seductively. "By your own standards, you're already damned, Jean-Luc." 

Picard suppressed his discomfort, refused to turn away in the face of the truth. "Those aren't the only reasons I didn't agree to sleep with you, Q." Somehow he managed to get the sentence out in a purely neutral voice. 

"I know that," Q smiled. "But now you'll have to look a little deeper for them." He raised one hand and snapped his fingers, leaving Picard unsurprised at his departure. 

Picard exhaled a long breath and got out of bed, rearranging the covers precisely, and turned to the replicator to ask for tea. It was almost a habit following his meetings with Q, and he was grateful that his method of dealing with stress wasn't an unhealthy one. 

He didn't have to look deeper for anything. Whatever he'd said to Q, his main reason for avoiding a relationship had always been fear, and he admitted that freely to himself. Fear of the unknown, fear of consequences he couldn't begin to guess at. Fear of himself. Not fear of Q, he hadn't felt that in years. 

His earlier thought-flash came back to him, and he wondered if he was a complete idiot to be so confident in trusting Q. Foolish or not, it didn't change the fact that he did. 

And this morning's conversation, short as it was, had left him with the overwhelming impression that his faith was well founded. He'd seen something more than the familiar dramatising and posturing. He'd seen Q react with hurt when he accused him of something that he wouldn't have done. That had been real. And it at least helped to answer one of the questions he'd been wrestling with for months. 

If he could cause Q pain with words, then Q genuinely had to _care_, to some degree at least. Not just a burning curiosity of Q's to try sex with a human, then. 

_Oh, if only it were that easy_, he thought wryly, borrowing Q's words. 

The biggest sting of all was that he had no answers to Q's questions, Q's accusations. Thrown out in bitterness, an instinctive desire to hit back at Picard for hurting him, but valid all the same. Would it have made a difference if Janine Pearce had been a friend? He tried to work out what he would have done for a missing Will or Beverly, but he simply wasn't capable of that level of objective assessment. 

Was he really that shallow? Or was it that he was that human? 

And would he have accepted information from Q if Q had been someone neutral, rather than a potential lover with private agendas? If he didn't have to worry about his answer colouring any future relationship? He hoped not - it was unpleasant to think that he might let his personal involvements affect those kind of command decisions. 

He sighed in frustration at the unanswerable questions and drained the rest of his tea. His shift didn't start for another couple of hours, but his mind was churning so fast that he wouldn't be able to concentrate on his book. Instead, he peeled off his pyjamas and stepped into the shower cubicle, hoping that the cleansing warmth of vapour-jets would relax him. 

How could he even begin to know Q when he didn't know himself?

*****

**Stardate 51396.9 **

Picard took a deep breath and walked through the open doorway into his quarters, waiting until he heard the swish as it closed behind him. 

"Q?" he called out softly, feeling more than a little silly addressing the empty air. Over all these years, every meeting had been at Q's instigation - it had never occurred to him to ask for Q. He had no idea if this would work. 

He began to feel even sillier as the seconds passed. Although he'd suspected over the years that Q watched him sometimes, he didn't really expect that it was a full-time occupation. 

He’d almost convinced himself; Q's appearance came as something close to a surprise. "Well, this is new." Q looked at him with obvious curiosity. Now that Q sat draped across his sofa, casual in a carefully arranged way, Picard really didn't know what to say. His relationship with Q wasn’t something he truly understood, and he considered his choice of words, far too wary of triggering another explosive argument. 

He opted for the indirect approach. "Would it be inappropriate for me to ask you for a favour, Q?" 

Q's whole manner changed as he spoke and Picard blinked as for an instant he almost seemed to _flare_; a momentary impression of uncontrolled light and energy that oddly left no shadow upon his retinas. Then there was only Q again, the long sprawl of his body no longer a pose but genuinely relaxed. Q threw him a brilliantly wicked smile. "That would depend upon the favour, Jean-Luc." But there was a seriousness behind the overt flirting, and Picard met his eyes in total sincerity. 

"Is Janine Pearce still alive?" 

Leer gone instantly, Q equally earnest. "Yes." 

Picard nodded, closing his eyes briefly as relief soaked through him like the first mouthful of Romulan ale. "Thank you, Q." 

Q watched him, head tilted slightly to one side, chin resting on interlaced fingers. "Do you want to know more?" 

He shook his head slowly, gaze locked to Q's face. "That's enough for now." It was a matter of degree. He wouldn't use Q’s knowledge to change her fate; it was the best compromise he could make between his responsibilities to her family and his duty as a Starfleet officer. 

Q continued to watch him with open interest as the seconds stretched on. "So when are you going to tell me the other reason I'm here?" Q asked eventually, with a quick smile. 

Picard smiled back somewhat ruefully. "It would seem that I don't have to, since you already know." 

"Of course I know," Q announced, laughing. 

And then Q was kissing him. Picard seemed to have missed the part where he got up off the sofa and walked over to him, but then maybe Q had just skipped that bit. 

Kissing Q was in some ways exactly what he'd expected, and in others entirely different from kissing anybody else. He'd known that Q wouldn’t be incompetent - he didn't imagine for an instant that Q would have suggested sex without thoroughly investigating technique first. But while Q did all the right things with lips and tongue and the occasional hint of teeth, it was terribly clinical - like it was all about the expertise and the spontaneity was left behind somewhere. It caused the physical responses in Picard's body, but it wasn't what he wanted. 

He pushed a little harder against Q, letting his hands roam extensively; twisting fingers through the silky hair at the nape of Q's neck, running them lightly over his ribs and wondering briefly if he might be ticklish. Quick, darting flicks of his tongue along Q's lips. And, oh, that was better - nobody could accuse Q of being a slow learner. Maybe the kiss was a little wetter now, the artfulness slightly flawed, but the desire came through with a force that Picard's body _hummed_ with. Q returning the pressure all along him, Q almost wrapped around him, Q's hands on his face, on his hip, Q's tongue stroking playfully across his teeth..... After all the self-questioning, he could scarcely believe how easy it was to just do this. 

Q broke away from the kiss, hands still trailing possessively over Picard's chest and flanks. "I have to say, Jean-Luc, I'd anticipated a more confident approach from you," he said, light and teasing. "It's not as if you haven't done the whole seduction routine before." 

Q's bright, expressive face looked like he was on the verge of laughter every second he looked at him. Picard wondered if he'd ever seen Q so purely _happy_; nothing hidden, no layers of plans for the next move, just delighted in now. Maybe once or twice during those months before the Borg came. Probably the last time Picard had felt that way himself, he realised belatedly. 

"I'm a little out of practice lately, Q," he admitted. "Besides, I could hardly ask you out to dinner, could I?" 

Q made an idiotic moue. "Maybe I would have liked dinner," he pouted. "People do tend to forget the social niceties when I visit them, you know." 

Picard's mouth quirked at the mental image of himself presenting Q with a bunch of roses and solemnly inviting him to a candlelit evening on the holodeck. "I'm sure I can arrange dinner if you're feeling deprived," he said, struggling to appear serious. He was abruptly struck by the memory of Q as the Sheriff of Nottingham, feet on the table and eating with his fingers, and gave in, collapsing against Q, shaking with laughter. 

Q looked down at him, eyes huge with mock hurt. "Well, if you feel like that about it," he sniffed, "but I assure you, I can be romantic when I want to." 

The overblown innocence in his expression simply made Picard chuckle more. Q's frame vibrated beneath his fingers and they both sagged into the sofa, clutching at each other and almost giggling with shared absurdity. Q was laughing, really laughing, deep and rich, and it was because of _him_. Q's compelling eyes glowed at him, and it wasn't even about the sex. That was there, in the background, waiting; right now it was about the friend. 

But his body was sprawled, half-leaning into Q, and the sexual desire had been with him far too long to stay suppressed. As Q's breaths, still hitching with laughter, warmed his forehead, his body's awareness reasserted itself, reminding him urgently that this was _Q_ here with him. Q's hand heavy on his hip, Q's thigh beneath his own, Q's wide lips within his reach. A gulf of mere inches he crossed with mouth and hands, fingers buried in dark hair as he dragged an unresisting Q into a series of hot, demanding kisses. Writhing around, necking on his sofa in a way he hadn't done in years - he was vaguely aware that this should feel silly at his age, but he wasn't feeling anything except spiralling lust. Enough of his mind was still rational, though, to remind him that any amount of time lying on a sofa was not good for his back. He wriggled himself out of Q's tight grip, avoiding the clutching hands that sought to draw him back in. "Just a suggestion, Q, but I think the bed would be more comfortable." 

Q smiled smugly. "Just so long as you're not backing out on me." He raised one hand, paused and looked uncertainly at him. "Jean-Luc?" 

Picard had been snapped around the universe enough times by Q and other beings to have become rather blasé about it, and he just nodded. Q's grin widened, and his bed wasn’t only more comfortable than the sofa, it was more comfortable than his bed usually was. The sheets looked much the same, and he had better things to do with Q right now than make a point of it. He tasted his way along Q's jaw and down onto the soft skin of his neck, licking at salty sweat and briefly wondering just how human Q had made himself. There were hands at his neck and his waist, tugging ineffectually at the hidden fastenings of his uniform. Q muttered something inaudible, and then the hand at his hip was sliding directly over skin. Picard didn't exactly object to suddenly finding himself naked, kissing an equally exposed Q, but he couldn't help noticing that Q hadn't stopped to ask this time. 

But it was all skin on skin, and his brain really didn't want to discuss issues; there was just too much Q to explore, pale skin and silken hair demanding his touch, his lips, Q arching up towards Picard's hand as he lazily stroked along hip and thigh. Everything here that he'd wanted for _years_, and so difficult to know where to start when his mind burned with a thousand ideas, a thousand desires. Q reacted to every movement of his fingers, his tongue, intoxicating him with the sheer variety of responses he could elicit. Q shifted, the pressure of his hip against Picard's straining erection sending impulses screaming to his brain for more - more contact, more Q, more anything that could keep him feeling this incredible high. 

Q's eyes glittered, and Picard was ambushed abruptly, finding himself on his back with Q smiling over him. "So, you like to tease, mon capitain?" And, oh, God, Q was sucking at the hollow of his neck, fingers at his nipple making his whole body shudder, and again, and again, and again. Some part of his mind yelled that there was more going on here than just sex, Q was _doing_ something to him, and whatever it was that Q was doing was the most unbelievable thing he'd ever encountered. Waves of heat radiated outward from any skin that Q touched, his ribs, his wrists, behind his _knees_ of all places. It seemed that Q was licking every inch of him simultaneously, kissing him, touch flowing through him, and then Q was at his cock and there wasn't anything to do but feel; Q's lips, his tongue, his throat working around him, until he exploded into orgasm with no breath left to cry out. 

Q hovered over him, placing light repetitive kisses along the edge of his mouth, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. 

"My God, Q, what did you _do_?" 

Q smiled wickedly. "I'm going to take that as a compliment." The kissing resumed without his question being answered, and somewhat surprisingly it didn't bother him at all. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he’d never expected sex with Q would be… normal. He tugged Q in for a slower, deeper kiss, fighting the inevitable lassitude of his body. He wasn't going to fall asleep on his partner, no matter how exquisite the orgasm. 

One hand was in Q's hair, his tongue exploring Q's mouth again, and he briefly thought how odd it was to be kissing someone who didn't taste of toothpaste or coffee or synthehol; Q just tasted like _something_, and he concentrated his mind on naming the flavour while his body remembered that it really did want to be awake. And then he abandoned the task, because Q didn't taste like anything he knew of, which was probably a good thing or he would have discovered a new favourite food. 

Abandoning his idiotic thoughts, he wriggled his body away from Q's enough to allow his hand between them, seeking Q's erection. Curled his fingers around the shaft, rubbed his thumb across the head; the hard cock jerked in his hand and every part of Q shivered in reaction, soft hiss from between parted lips. He firmed his grip, running his thumb along the underside of the head, watching for Q's every twitch, the flicker of eyelids, the exhalation of air, delighted by anything that Q did, that he did to Q. 

So fully wrapped up in Q, he jumped at the first brush of a cool, slick finger along his ass. Q peered at him through conflicted eyes, an odd mix of apprehension and mischief. "Can I, Jean-Luc? Can I put parts of me inside parts of you and meld us together with the glorious fire of a collapsing binary?”

Picard had to smile at the ridiculousness of it, and the _timing._ He hadn't done this in years, but he'd thought about it enough - him inside Q, Q inside him. “It sounds like you’ve been reading some terrible poetry, Q. Alien race?”

“Vorgon, actually,” Q said, his face twisting theatrically. “Be grateful you don’t know them, far too much slime.”

Q’s hands were motionless on his body and Picard realised he hadn’t given Q an answer he would act on. He reached around to take Q’s wrist, encouraging that finger lower. "We can do whatever you want, Q." 

Q threw him a smile that was literally breath taking, and almost pounced on him. There was a momentary aura around him, a hint of the vivid energy flash he'd seen earlier. "Anything, Jean-Luc?" Q spoke the words directly into his ear, dark voice of liquid sex. Warm air and lips played along his lobe, making him shiver. 

He still had more than enough control to qualify it. "Well, within reason," he said, casting a playful sideways glance at Q, who was busy lapping at his ear. "It might be better if you ask first." 

"Oh, I'll be asking," Q smirked, accentuating the words with a quick nip of teeth. "I have a very long list of things I'd like to do with you." 

Picard kept his voice as dry as he could make it. "Just as long as it doesn't include watersports." 

Q paused momentarily, then howled with laughter, clearly trying to hold an expression of outrage and failing completely. Picard couldn't help wondering just how much knowledge Q had acquired during that casual instant of thought. "Really, Jean-Luc," Q said when he could speak again. "I know your opinion of me isn't the highest, but there are limits." That voice, in a prim and proper travesty of virtue, was more than Picard could deal with, and he succumbed to a fit of impossible laughter himself. 

He heard Q mutter something about unreasonable distractions, then Q was licking his way across his chest and all playfulness was rapidly gone as sex became a consuming drive once again. He felt his cock twitch in defiance of his age, body remembering just how extraordinary Q had made him feel earlier. And Q attacked his body with identical thoroughness and attention to detail, swamping conscious thought in pure sensation. There was nothing but the desire; nothing but kissing Q, touching Q, feeling Q on his skin everywhere. And then Q's fingers inside him, barely-remembered sensation from years before, and he really had no idea why it had been so long since he'd slept with a man when it could feel like _this_. 

He tore his lips away from Q's and shifted onto his stomach, reluctant to lose the intimacy, but it would be easier on his hips this way. And it seemed nothing was lost at all as Q moulded his body to his, heated skin surrounding him and slick, cool fingers inside, teasing. His erection was back in full force by now, demanding attention, and he gave in to the urge to touch himself as Q eased into him. The double wave of impulses slammed into his brain with a kick like a Risan ox, Picard barely aware of the soft moan in his breath. Q was there, where he'd wanted him for years, over him, inside him, ragged pants and soft kisses on his neck, tongue licking at his sweat, and slow careful movements that weren't what his imagination had fed him over so many nights.

"Q, faster!" No subtlety left in him, just greed. 

Q reached around to take control of his cock, stroking long and maddening. "I won't hurt you, Jean-Luc." 

"If you did, you’d know it, so will you just _fuck_ me!" 

Air hissed sharply inwards by his ear and Q's tone changed entirely, harsh and possessive. "Well, since you put it that way..." And now he had what he needed, forceful thrusts that stretched him open, hard, twisting strokes on his erection driving him past the tattered boundaries of control and into a second devastating climax. A few more strokes and Q shuddered and tensed within him, before they both collapsed into a mass of sweaty limbs and disrupted sheets. 

Q grinned at him lasciviously and spoke between ragged breaths. "Well, that was certainly different." 

Picard returned the smile with buoyant delight. "Was it what you expected?" 

Q shrugged. "I didn't really know what I expected, just what I wanted." And Q threw one arm over him, curling into him in a clear gesture of affection and lay still. Picard wondered if he were really asleep, remembering Q's previous discomfort at the experience. Too tired to really care, he closed his eyes and waited for the post-orgasmic exhaustion to pull him in 

Q was in bed beside him, tangled up in his linen. 

Picard lay awake, consumed by a thousand different questions, and with no idea where to begin. It might have been a while, but it was undoubtedly still bad form to start interrogating a lover after one session in bed. And while he thought he had a fair idea of what this relationship meant to Q, it was all based on supposition, the relationship itself new and distinctly tenuous. He was reluctant to appear as if he were prying. 

His eyes returned to Q, lying quietly beside him, looking more at peace than he had ever seen him. Picard reached over, trailing his hand casually down the pale skin of one arm. Q shivered, dark eyes opening and slanting sideways at him with humour. 

If Q was going to take offence at questions, the whole thing was doomed anyway. 

"When I called for you, how did you know what I'd decided?" He let his full curiosity show, determined there would be no misunderstandings now. 

"I read your mind," Q replied casually, gaze fixed on the ceiling above them. 

Picard smiled, confident. "No, you didn't." 

Q shifted around onto his side to face him. "How do you know?" 

"You told me once that you wouldn't, or rather you implied it." 

"And you just believe me." Q sounded almost wondering. 

"I believed you then and I still do. You’ve never given me a reason not to." 

Q smiled at that, but it wasn't enough to disguise the anxiety, the hesitation. His hand reached out, then paused on the sheets, his fingers pulling the fabric into wrinkles.

"You can't know what I see when I look at you." When Q finally forced out the words, it was with an intensity that was almost shattering. "Far more than mortal vision allows. I choose not to read your specific thoughts, the words in your conscious mind. But I see the way the impulses glide along your nerves, all the patterns of changing activity in the regions of your brain, and I know by now what they mean. I can read your moods better than Troi, Jean-Luc, and I can no more turn that off than she can." 

Picard had never asked a lover to change for him, and he wasn't about to start now just because the lover was Q. "I wouldn't want you to." Q’s expression softened instantly and that whole gorgeous body trembled once, relaxing away from a tension that Picard hadn't even fully recognised until it was gone. It gave him the courage to ask another question, knowing that Q was as afraid of ruining this as he was. 

"When you realised, I saw you seem to glow, shimmer...." His voice trailed off, no words in any language he knew to describe that fleeting glimpse into some other part of Q, an aspect that had remained hidden over all these years. "What I saw - was that something of what you really are?" 

"In one way of thinking, yes. Or maybe not really." He seemed to visibly struggle for a way to explain. "You saw a semblance of the energy I have in the continuum, at least so far as your eyes can interpret it." Q reached across to Picard, one hand gripping tightly on his hip. "But you have to know, Jean-Luc. This shape isn't something I borrow, something I hide in. When I'm in this body, I actually _become_ it, and it's just as much me as any other." 

"I understand." And he thought he really did know what Q was trying to say. 

He glanced over at the old-fashioned timepiece on the nightstand that had been handed down through several generations of Picards. His shift started in a little over an hour. He ought to shower and eat breakfast, get back to the real world. There was a good chance that Beverly would stop by, although they had no firm arrangements for this morning. 

Another day and Enterprise would be at Starbase 378; another two or three after that, repairs would be complete and he'd be back in the war. He wriggled around to face Q more directly and met deep eyes, close, serious, reflecting his change of mood. "There have to be rules, Q." 

"I know that." Watching Q's lips move, the slight flash of teeth as he spoke, was almost an addiction of its own. 

"And you have to stick to them," he added with a hint of a smile. 

"I will if I agree with them," Q gently teased. 

Picard stroked his fingers softly across Q's chest, playing lightly with the dark hairs. His face settled back into his command mask as he spoke, disconcerting with a lover but this couldn't be hedged around. "You can't interfere unless I agree to it, Q. It has to be my decision. Every time." 

Q simply nodded. "Any others?" 

Picard didn't want a relationship based on boundaries and rigidly drawn lines. "No, I don't think so." His position in Starfleet demanded that that one thing be spoken clearly. Beyond that, he would simply have to trust Q. 

He let those absorbing lips pull him in, kissing Q slow and languorous. 

He would never have enough time to really know Q, the immortal entity who played with the universe at will, who had seen things he could never begin to grasp. But he could know this Q, the friend in human form who shared his bed, the lover who somehow delighted him with his presence even when he infuriated him. 

That would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been amended a bit from the version originally posted. In particular, I was never entirely happy with the sex scene, so I've edited that to make it flow better.


End file.
